Plotting
by The Madman From Hollywood
Summary: Scar is supremely underrated. A scene in the movie, dialogue borrowed, in his POV. Written for a class assignment.


"Life's not fair, is it?" I chirp dolefully. "You see, I-well, I... shall never be King." Turning my face away from the audience, I let out a long, loud sniff and drew my paw over my nose. "And you... shall never see the light of another day."

I laugh because it's my only option. Sarabi used to love my laugh. She, of course, fell for somebody else. Now she is Queen of Pride Rock. "Adieu," I say, before stuffing the mouse in my mouth.

"Didn't your mother tell you not to play with your food?" An annoying little bird asks. How I wish it were as hypothetical as the saying implies, but there actually is a little bird with a big beak which he can never seem to keep shut. His name is Zazu, and he's the biggest suck-up messenger to any king since Hermes. I am the smarter brother. Sherlock is to Mufasa (or, as I like to call him, Mufeces, before Mother always reprimanded us for it), as Mycroft is to me. Richard I is to Mufasa as Geoffrey is to me. Many people have compared me to his snivelly, cowardly brother King John, but I cannot see the parallel. Of course, I can't see anything besides the red. People shouldn't tangle with me. I am the cunning. I am the political.

Unfortunately, I cannot eat Zazu-yet.

"What do you want?" I sigh.

"I'm here to announce that King Mufasa is on his way," Zazu clucks and bows. "So you'd better have a good excuse for missing the ceremony this morning."

Of course I have a good excuse. Who wants to see Mufeces' sneezing mane-less little prince, who incidentally must be more deserving of that name of endearment? No lion didn't soil his loincloth when looking at me. That in itself is sickening. Lions shouldn't wear loincloths - and they don't, if they're not royalty - and once I become King, that'll be the first thing abolished.

My quiet musings have taken me captive so that I didn't even notice my paw was now empty. Speaking of good excuses, I now had a reason to bump off this annoying avian brat because I was hungry. Talk about killing two birds with one stone-although that isn't really applicable here.

"Oh now look, Zazu; you've made me lose my lunch." I chided.

"Hah! You'll lose more than that when the King gets through with you. He's as mad as a hippo with a hernia."

Is that really the best he can come up with?

"Ooo..." I bare my teeth. "I quiver with fear."

"Now Scar, don't look at me like that... help!"

"Scar!" A deep, rich, young, manly voice admonishes.

I shoot a string of curses at my brother, but luckily for him my mouth is full.

"Drop him."

Zazu tries to say something. Rolling my eyes, I spit him out. Zazu protests in disgust. "Why, if it isn't my big brother descending from on high to mingle with the commoners."

"Sarabi and I didn't see you at the presentation of Simba."

Presentation, he says? What was the kid, a little debutante? I sneer at the thought.

"That was today?" I say. "Oh, I feel simply awful."

With that, I sharpen my claws on the rock. Zazu flinches. "Must have slipped my mind," I continued.

"Yes, well, as slippery as your mind is, as the king's brother, you should have been first in line!" Zazu seems to have made a fast recovery. Of course, he's always had trouble keeping his fat beak shut even in the most perilous of events.

"Well, I was first in line..." I growl. "Until the little hairball was born."

My stupid brother narrows his eyes. "That hairball is my son... and your future king."

"Oh, I shall practice my curtsy." I smirk. There is nothing left here; I turn around. I have stumped my brother's lack of wit.

"Don't turn your back on me, Scar."

"Oh, no, Mufasa." I lower my voice. "Perhaps you shouldn't turn your back on me."

Mufasa, being stupidly brave as always, jumps right in front of me (when he knows just how much it annoys me when an elephant walks out right in front of me on the plain when I have a destination to reach) and growls. "Is that a challenge?"

I am in no mood for this. "Temper, temper. I wouldn't dream of challenging you."

"Pity!" Zazu interjects. "Why not?"

I look at him. "Well, as far as brains go, I got the lion's share. But, when it comes to brute strength," I look pointedly at Mufasa, "I'm afraid I'm at the shallow end of the gene pool."

Then I walk off with my own agenda. Mufasa's pea brain will only lead his pride to trouble. Any king so rash will be a figurehead at best and vanquished at worst. If he continues to pick wars he couldn't possibly win, his subjects will crumble under his blasted Pride Rock. Oh, I know I would-will-be a better king than my brother. His first few years prove my insights. I know I can't get through to my brother's thick head, though. Maybe his hairball is a blessing in disguise.


End file.
